Proud Corazón
by Satu-D-2
Summary: It all comes back to the music. To the rhythm that guides them. To the beating of their hearts. To the dance that they share. If only for this moment, the song will bind them together. - Massive spoilers ahead. Relationship field left purposefully blank. Prequel to Isolated by Death.
1. Rhythm

**Summary:** She dances to the beat of her heart. With the music flowing through her. And no one else, it seems, can match her rhythm.

* * *

Imelda never listened. She was proud and defiantly independent, despite her father's attempts to keep her home and safe. Sneaking out of windows and around Santa Cecilia, finding places she could sing and dance without worrying about who watched.

When she sang her voice carried over the music and silenced the band. When she danced the flourish of her skirts and quick, light steps moved people away until she was alone in a circle of admirers.

But then one night it changed. It was the middle of summer, the air warm and muggy. When she sang, one guitar continued to play, pecking out the harmony to her melody. When she danced someone dared to come closer, to move with her steps and match her movements.

She cast a short look at this intruder. A hopeful grin. Golden tooth winking at her. Dimple denting his left cheek. Wide brown eyes that were filled with light and joy and awe. Thick black hair matching a neat goatee. Tall, thin and gangly. All long limbs held together in exaggerated angles. He held a white guitar, carefully decorated by hand, and was comfortably finding the notes to match her song.

Amused, she stepped up the pace of her words and her feet. Watched with an unfamiliar pleasure as he matched her effortlessly, his grin widening. Then he started to sing too, and his voice was in perfect harmony. He didn't know the song. Not really. He sang nonsense syllables, almost but not quite forming words. And she was too delighted to care.

With a final flourish they both threw up their hands, him holding his guitar in a firm grip. Silence fell. So heavy it seemed to stop her breath. To freeze her in place. His eyes pinned her to the spot, not leaving hers for a second, seeming to pierce right into her soul.

He lowered his arms first. Cradled his guitar in one.

"Héctor," he said, holding out one hand. That gold tooth winked at her again. His grin sat comfortably on his face. It fit his sharp cheekbones and pointed chin. Made warmth blossom in her chest and pool in her stomach.

"Imelda," she replied. Supplied a firm handshake that seemed to throw him off guard.

"You have a beautiful voice," he said, and the light dancing in his eyes matched the fluttering of her heart.

"You're not bad yourself." She shifted, the weight of her skirts seeming to pull her down. It was almost as though her knees were weak.

"W-would you like to dance again?" he asked. Had that been a stutter? From this awkward gangly man who had moved with such grace just a few short moments ago? It was almost...endearing?

But Imelda never listened. Not to her father, not to her gut. Trying to silence the butterflies in her stomach and the nervous tittering of her heart, she shook her head and flipped her skirts.

The grin fell away. He lowered his face and clutched his guitar closer to him. She found herself oddly upset by this. By the loss of that gold tooth and the easy creases beside his eyes. Determined to not pander to this silliness she turned on her heel and stalked away. Through the circle of silent watchers and through the dark streets. Blaming her flushed cheeks on the balmy summer night.

Months passed. She never quite forgot about Héctor. His smile with that golden tooth, his eyes that danced and shone with the music they made together. She continued to sneak out, continued to dance and sing. She waited for him to join her. For the guitar and the duet and the dancing. But he never did. He never showed.

Eventually other men plucked up the courage to join her. She found herself suddenly surrounded by people. Trying to dance with her. Attempting to join her songs. Their steps were always slightly too slow or too fast. Their voices either drowned out hers completely or were nothing but a whisper beside her. None of them fit with her rhythm. It was infuriating. Maddening. The harder she tried to push them away the more persistent they became.

Finally she could take it no more. She stayed home. Under her father's watchful eye. Ignoring the suitors that came calling. Trying to ignore the beat her heart hammered against her ribcage.

One night she leaned beside her window, looking up at the stars. She hummed softly to herself. A random series of notes. Stitching them together at random. The suggestion of a melody. Bare bones that she could build up into a song if she so wished.

As the notes floated on the cool night air, her chin rested heavily on her palm and her eyes idly traced constellations. Her heart continued to pitter-patter in her chest, providing the beat for the tune.

She didn't notice the guitar at first. The gentle plinking notes that drifted up and joined her humming, first matching her melody then harmonising with it as the chords developed. When she did finally notice she jolted, stopped singing and stared down at the street. A wink of gold. Thick dark hair. Brown eyes glinting with mischief.

"Hello again," he called up to her. There was laughter in his voice and her heart started that silly fluttering again. His fingers moved deftly on the frets of his guitar, shaping the song which minutes before had been only a half-thought melody in her mind.

"Hello." Her eyes narrowed and a suspicious frown pursed her lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I was wondering if I could get that dance?" A little flourish of notes, pulling at her heartstrings. "It's been too long, señorita."

She could hear her father below, calling out to her to close her window. Telling her to come down and away from the strange young man in the street.

But Imelda didn't listen.

She crept through her window. Slid down the tiled roof and landed gracefully on the ground. Though Héctor's eyes grew wide and his smile shy, his hands never hesitated. The music flowed around her, pulling her closer. Her heart beat in time to his chords. Her feet moved automatically. She sang nonsense sounds that were almost, but not quite, words.

He played. She sang. They danced. In perfect rhythm.


	2. Taunting

**Summary:** Each occupied with their own task, they cannot help but send playful verbal jabs back and forth.

* * *

"You make me a little crazy, you know that?"

Imelda lifted her head and glanced over, narrowed her eyes. The pins between her lips dipped as she slanted her mouth in confusion. Héctor was leaning in the shade of the courtyard tree, adding a small skeleton face to the headstock of his guitar. The strings hung loose as he did this, allowing him full access.

His eyes, a light brown that shifted with hints of gold in the dappled light, met hers. She felt a now familiar bloom of warmth and fought hard against a smile. She won, but not by much.

"And how, pray tell, am I doing that?" She pointedly turned away. Pulled a pin from between her lips. Adjusted the seam of the skirt she was altering.

"You pretend to ignore me." She could basically hear the faux pout in his voice. The over-exaggerated puppy-dog eyes he would be flashing towards her. "You sit and sew and don't ever glance my way!"

She scoffed. This was a blatant lie. When they were in the same space they couldn't help but look at each other. Sneaking glances filled with heat and passion. Their gaze was magnetic, and snapped together if either drifted close.

"And I can get over it, but besides all of that, you won't marry me."

That made her pause. Needle half through fabric. Fingers frozen in place. She lowered the skirt, swivelled in her seat. Stared at him with wide and shocked eyes.

"I…what?"

They had never spoken of marriage. They had never discussed their future. In all their whispered conversations and secret meetings, Héctor had never given any indication that he wanted anything long term.

Though, that wasn't exactly true either. She had seen…something in his eyes whenever he saw her. Felt something when he had first nervously held her hand and asked her permission for a kiss. Sensed something in his demeanour when he was with her. Could she imagine being with this man forever? For the rest of her life? Yes, she absolutely could.

Still, him asking needled her the wrong way. Straightening her spine, spitting her pins to the side, she snapped, "You never asked."

He didn't flinch. Her flares of temper had never made him bat an eyelid. Where other men would quail and try desperately to appease her, Héctor simply smiled and shrugged and carried on as though nothing had changed.

"Did I have to?"

Having coloured in a single tooth on the little skeleton face, he began to tighten the strings. One foot tapping out a beat to a new imagined song. Long fingers gently teasing wooden pegs. Bringing music back to the instrument. Delicately, with infinite love and caring. The way he looked at her, kissed her, touched her.

He looked up. That easy charming smile, his left cheek dimpled and his gold tooth twinkling. Those soulful eyes, dancing with humour. The hot flash of anger faded, warmed into amusement.

"I suppose not." She lost the fight and a small smile pulled up one corner of her mouth. She turned back to the skirt. Finished the stitch she'd frozen in the middle of and moved on to the next one. Feeling the heat in her cheeks and the excited knot in her stomach. Subtly, so he wouldn't see, she pinched her leg and grinned at the sudden sharp sting.

"A spring wedding?" Accompanied by a quick strum of notes that sent a shiver up her spine. Making sure his instrument was in tune. Ensuring it sounded as though he wasn't waiting eagerly for her response. Forcing nonchalance into the conversation.

"What about autumn?" She was mostly teasing. The idea of a spring wedding, only a few short months away, sounded amazing. Delightful. She could hardly wait already.

She heard the gentle thump as he laid his guitar down, the quiet padding of his soft-soled shoes as he approached. He wrapped his arms around her, leaning warm against her back. Cradled her close. Pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"I see you dressed in flowers," he murmured into her hair. "Dancing beneath a snowfall of petals. Singing and smiling. Will you smile when you marry me, Imelda?"

She lowered the skirt. Leaned into his embrace. Turned her head and tilted her face to his. When she spoke their lips brushed together, lighting a spark that spiralled lazily through her body to pool in her belly. Judging by the flush that rose in Héctor's cheeks, he felt it too. It was hard to keep her voice steady, to add her own casual air to play off his.

"Yes, I think I will."


	3. Surprise Part 1

**Summary:** The lead up to a wedding is always full of surprises.

* * *

Her father was surprisingly okay with their engagement. When first meeting Héctor he had looked the young man up and down, glowering from beneath lowered, bushy eyebrows. Óscar and Felipe had stood on either side of him, heads tilted back to look down their noses. But when they'd all seen the way Imelda and Héctor looked at each other, the way they played off each other in every interaction, the hostility and distrust had faded. One night as spring drew closer, her Papa had taken Imelda's hand and, with tears glimmering on his cheeks, murmured how much her mother would have loved him.

They had been together for only six months. Six wonderful, magical months. Six months of passion and music and joy. But there was a thread of uncertainty beneath the excitement of planning for the wedding. A thread that grew larger and more twisted as time went on.

She had to tell him. She had to be honest. To come clean. She'd tell him tonight. If only he would come home…

He had gone out with a friend. To play some songs and have a good time. He'd asked her to come along, but she had lied and said she had some sewing to do. Some suits to tailor. Felipe was all thumbs, didn't he know? Someone had to help him with the alterations.

So he had kissed her. Tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Told her that he loved her.

That had been hours ago. The sun had set. She tapped her foot, glanced at the old clock on the wall, the clock that varied the speed of its hands so irregularly that it only told the right time about once in a blue moon, and glowered out the window.

The sky clouded over. The moon and stars obscured, she now had no way to even guess at the time. It began to rain. Warm fat droplets of water splashed against the window and she felt an odd combination of anger and worry rise.

It had been raining for several hours by the time she heard Héctor's laughter and voice approaching. He was singing. Lewd songs about breasts and sex. Interspersed with giggles that seemed slurred and unfocused. Another voice was singing along with him, laughing and egging him on.

She slammed the door open. Strode through the rain. Saw the two men staggering up the path by the light of covered lanterns. Héctor turned to her, and his eyes lit up.

"Ernesto, Ernesto, this is her!"

He released the man he was holding, stumbled forward and flopped against Imelda. Long fingered hands cradled her cheeks and his crooked nose pressed firmly against hers. His breath stank of tequila and cigarettes.

"This is Imelda. Mi amor! My heart! My soul!" He tottered against her and the worry that had steadily grown through the night disappeared under her rage. His companion, tall, broad and handsome, came forward.

"Ah, Imelda, the woman who has so completely stolen Héctor's heart!" She found herself swept into his arms now. This stranger. Who moved surely and spoke clearly. He was not drunk, not like Héctor was. He pressed a kiss to each cheek, then to her lips in a way that was decidedly familiar.

She slapped him. Once. Hard. He let her go, stepped back a bit, surprised.

"Where the hell have you been?" she spat. Héctor, leaning against the wall, stopped smiling and giggling. His drunken demeanour fell away.

"Imelda, I…"

"I…I'll leave you to it," Ernesto said. His cheek was slowly reddening in the shape of her hand. This was clearly not the reaction he was used to. With his winning smile and handsome features, he was used to women fawning all over him. Begging for a second look. Desperate for a touch of his hand or his lips.

He turned. Walked away. Didn't look back.

Imelda did the same. Walked past the open door and into the central courtyard. Tilted her face up into the rain. Héctor followed, his steps unsteady.

"Imelda. Mi amor. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?!" She spun to him. Venom in her voice and fire in her eyes. Rain continued to beat down on them, soaking their clothes. Héctor didn't lower his eyes. He didn't look away. He didn't flinch or quail, and though she usually loved that about him, at the moment it made her furious. He just nodded and repeated himself.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stay out so late. To make you worry so." He gestured towards the street. "It's been so long since I last saw Ernesto. We got…carried away."

"You did, he was fine."

"He's a lot bigger than me." Héctor snorted into his hand. Seeing she was not amused, he turned the movement into a shrug. "I apologise, Imelda. As I said I hadn't seen him in a long time. He's my best friend, I had to thank him."

"Thank him?"

"For helping me meet you." Héctor blinked some rain out of his eyes. Smiled at her. "I wouldn't have dared, not if he didn't make me. You were so beautiful, Imelda. So fierce and strong. He had to physically push me into that circle to dance with you."

Imelda thought back. She didn't remember seeing Ernesto in the circle. But then again all of her attention had been on the man before her. On his smile and voice and hands on the frets of his guitar. Everyone else was just a blur of colour.

"The guitar?"

"I…that was me." Héctor brushed his sopping fringe out of his eyes. His intoxication was steadily fading away, but still showed in the clumsy movements of his usually deft hands. "I couldn't help it. Your voice…it just…called to me…"

She sighed, moved closer, leaned on the wall beside him.

"Héctor… You don't have to be sorry."

"I do!" His vehemence surprised her. "I should have come home sooner. I should not have drunk so much. I should have introduced you to Ernesto at a better time."

There was a pause. She slipped her hand into his, squeezed it gently.

"I'm sorry I slapped your friend."

He laughed. Reflexively squeezed her hand. Water ran from between their fingers.

"No, no, no, Imelda, you don't need to be sorry. It's his own fault for not realising what happens if someone kisses you."

"You kiss me." Slightly amused, almost a little defensive.

"Yes, mi amor, but I asked first."

A beat of silence. Then she was laughing, and he was giggling, and they held hands and leaned against each other in the pouring rain.

"Come, Héctor, let's get you inside, we're both soaked to the bone."

He nodded, paused, then shook his head with wide eyes. "I-inside? Imelda, no no no, I can't go in there! Your papa is in there! Your brothers! They would not approve!"

"That horse has bolted, but thank you for closing the barn door."

He blushed. Rubbed the back of his neck. Leaned into her. She snickered and supported him as they stumbled inside. He immediately knocked into a side table, knocking a picture over with a thud, and made an exaggerated shhing sound towards her.

"Ah, Dios mío, you are so clumsy." She pulled him towards her room, pushed him through the door. "Clothes off."

"I-Imelda?"

"You are not soaking my bed. Clothes off. I will get you a nightshirt."

He was almost completely red by now. Heat baking off his high cheekbones. She could almost see the rain water steaming off his messy hair. She turned away, retrieved an old loose nightdress of hers. She heard his clothes hit the floor with heavy wet thuds and tossed the nightdress over her shoulder to him. Then she started to undo the buttons of her own saturated dress. Slipped it off. Pulled her own nightdress on over goose-pimpled skin. Héctor was in bed when she turned back, smiling at her with a dopey adoring grin.

"I love you, Imelda."

"Go to sleep, Héctor." She crawled into the bed beside him. He wrapped his arms around her, held her close to the plain white cotton of her old nightdress. Long fingers gently brushed against her ribs, seemed to form chords and intricate melodies, before slowly relaxing as he slipped into sleep. He was like a furnace, radiating warmth, and she draped one arm across his stomach. "I love you too."

* * *

AN. Thank you all so much for reading and for all of the wonderful reviews that have been left. They warm my heart!

I'm leaving a note here because, hey, I've gotta say, this is turning more into a chapter story day by day. Can I ask for your thoughts on turning this into a long-fic and putting the few one-shots I've written into their own story? I would not remove the chapters I have posted; I would simply alter the summary to reflect this (possibly the title as well, we'll see) and continue on as I've been doing. Any feedback is greatly appreciated! Thank you all again, so so much 3


	4. Surprise Part 2

Summary: Revelations continue to be revealed, whether everyone is ready for them or not.

* * *

"Imelda… Imelda, honey, wake up!"

A hissed whisper. Interrupting a beautiful dream. Of singing and dancing on a cloud of petals. She waved a hand at the voice, as though it were a bothersome fly.

"Imelda, mi amor, please."

Slowly, groggily, she blinked her eyes open. Héctor was pressed against the wall, still dressed in her old nightdress, his eyes wide with panic. He cast a sideways look at the door and for a moment she almost saw it open, her father or brothers standing there, glaring at the two of them. But it was just a moment. A blink and the door reinstated itself. Closed. Firmly closed. No gap or glaring family member to be seen.

"Héctor, wha-"

"Shh!" He leapt over into the bed, putting a hand over her mouth and glancing fearfully at the door. "Imelda, you have to get me out of here! If your father knew!"

She pushed his hand off, shoved his shoulder so he fell onto his back with a whoosh of lost breath. He looked ridiculous in the long, white nightdress with embroidered flowers at the hem. Ridiculous, and oddly endearing. Had she picked that one on purpose? She really couldn't remember.

"Héctor, Papa won't care. We are getting married in less than a month! He will not care that we shared a bed for one night!" She crossed her arms, turned her face away. "Besides, it's not as though it is the first time we lay together. Just the first time we actually slept."

Héctor flushed. Didn't look away. Turned her face back to him and gently ran the ball of his thumb over her cheek.

"I…wasn't thinking. Apologies, Imelda."

Honesty fought a hard fight against deceit. Words rose in her throat and she swallowed hard to keep them down. She lifted her hand, covered his. Saw that same dopey smile rise on his face, saw the gold tooth wink and the dimple dip in his left cheek.

How could she risk this? Risk the loss of this wonderful man. The loss of all the joy and song and heart he had brought her. But she couldn't lie to him either. He deserved to know the truth.

"Héctor…"

He saw something in her face. His smile faded, pulled in a little at the corners. He sat up. Cradled her face in his hands again. Delicately, with infinite love and caring. One thumb brushing beneath her eye to catch a tear she didn't realise had fallen.

"Imelda, what is it?"

"Héctor…" A deep breath. Steeling herself. Straightening her spine. Finding that iron core of strength and holding it tight. "We're going to have a baby."

She wasn't sure what sort of reaction she was expecting. Horror? Disgust? Outrage? The worst of the worst flashed through her head again and again.

What she had not expected was a beat of silence. The corners of his mouth pulling up again. Light dancing in his eyes. He let out a ringing, whooping cry of excitement. Pulled her face to his. Kissed her with heat and passion. Then leapt from the bed, scrambled out of the window, started running down the street. Still whooping and laughing. Leaving her sitting there, breathless and confused.

* * *

Héctor couldn't contain his excitement. It flowed through his veins like fire, twanged on his muscles like over-tuned strings. Forced him to move. To run. His voice shrilled and rolled with excited calls as he sprinted through the streets. Towards his old haunts.

"Ernesto! Ernesto, Ernesto!" He effortlessly climbed the wall around Ernesto's central courtyard and bolted straight to his best friend's window. "Open up!" He knocked rapidly. Unable to stop his knuckles tapping out a driving rhythm. A counterpoint to the frantic hammering of his own heart.

There was a groan, then the window creaked open. Ernesto leaned out, bleary eyed, and blinked up at him. Recognition flashed in his eyes and his mouth dropped open in a shocked gape.

"Héctor? What in god's name are you wearing?"

A quick glance down. Confirmation that he was, indeed, still wearing Imelda's old, worn out nightdress. The flowers along the hem were a nice touch. Wasn't sure how he'd missed them before. He shrugged the feeling off.

"Good god, man, get in here before someone sees."

Ernesto reached out of the window, yanked Héctor through by the shoulders. Without a word, he started hunting through his clothes while Héctor crouched on the floor and started to babble.

"Ernesto, it's so exciting, Imelda just told me, I can't even believe it."

"Put some real clothes on."

An enormous shirt and slim legged pants thrust into his arms. Not stopping to catch his breath, Héctor continued to enthuse as he pulled off Imelda's nightdress and on Ernesto's clothes.

"I'm going to be a dad, Ernesto! Imelda and I are going to have a baby!"

Ernesto froze. Turned. The red mark of Imelda's hand stood out starkly against his pale skin. "You're what?"

"I'm going to be a dad!" Shirt still unbuttoned, Héctor flung his arms around Ernesto and started to cry.

"Hey, amigo, why are you crying? There are ways around these things! This is 1918, there are options! You don't have to be sad."

Ernesto patted Héctor's back. Soothing and reassuring.

"No, I'm not sad." Héctor lifted his tear-stained face. Wiped his running nose. "Can you imagine, Ernesto? Me? A dad?"

"I thought you said you never wanted kids." Ernesto released him. Turned his back again. "That you didn't want to be like your father. After he abandoned you, how he left you on the streets."

That took the wind out of Héctor's sails. It was like being punched in the gut. He sagged back against the wall, suddenly aware of a headache that pulsed at his temples.

"I…I know I said that, okay? But that was a long time ago. That was before…"

"Before what? That woman?" Ernesto pulled open another cupboard, fished out a flask and took a swig. Héctor's gut twisted. His fingers fumbled as he tried to do up the buttons of the shirt.

"Why are you saying that? You're the one who made me approach her. I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I never thought it would go this far. I thought she would be a fling for you, to bring your confidence up." He took another swallow. Coughed. Wiped his mouth. Turned back with a wide, winning smile. "I'm sorry, amigo, it just took me a moment! First the wedding, now a baby! This is all so exciting for you, Héctor!"

Relieved, Héctor embraced Ernesto. His best friend. The man who had first placed a guitar in his hands, watched as he played his first few tentative notes and had fallen hard for the sound. Who had encouraged him to write music and play more, to teach the little tricks and flourishes he developed. And in that moment he knew it was all going to be okay.


	5. Neutral Ground

**Summary:** In times of conflict, all discussions of truce need to occur on neutral ground.

* * *

Héctor wasn't one to fuss. He was more than happy to go with the flow, to adapt his plans and alter his expectations. At his core ran a deep optimism that infected those around him and coloured his every interaction. But now he was carefully altering every single detail of the set up before him. Pulling the tablecloth flat. Setting the table in exact right angles. Ensuring the pastries were stacked perfectly.

"Happy?"

He looked over. The owner of the café that he had commandeered was standing there with an amused grin on her round, kind face. He paused, narrowed his eyes. Examined the table one last time. Dipped the tip of his pinky into the coffee pot that was sitting there and licked it.

"Not hot enough. Can we have a new one?"

She snickered. Nodded. Grabbed up the coffee pot and headed back to the kitchen. Okay, with that final touch everything was perfect. Now he just needed them to actually show up.

Imelda came in first. Wearing a loose fitting, low-backed dress that had become her preferred outfit since she'd divulged her pregnancy. Her hair done in a braid that hung heavy down her spine. Just the sight of her sent his heart fluttering and brought up that warm flush of love and joy. It was the same feeling that flooded him whenever his fingers formed just the right chord or his voice that perfect finishing note. It was the sense of being made whole. Of being completed.

He grinned at her. Swept her into his arms. Kissed her and ran his hand down the thick twined braid of her hair. Played his fingers up her spine, lightly tapping each bony prominence. Her skin prickled with goosebumps beneath his fingers and her lips curved up into a smile.

"Have a seat, mi amor. I've got a selection of orejas just for you."

He guided her to one of the chairs. Held it out and pushed it in as she sat. She eyed the table cautiously. Suspiciously

"Héctor… What is all this?"

He didn't respond. Just bounced on his heels and looked at the door. Squeezed his elbows. Jittered with a frantic, nervous energy.

Then Ernesto came in. Saw the two of them. Seriously seemed to consider fleeing. Héctor darted forward and grabbed his hand before he could.

"Ernesto, thank you for coming, amigo. Sit, sit, sit. The coffee is hot and not too bitter, just like you like it."

Ernesto approached the table. Sat opposite Imelda. The two of them made no move to pour their own drink or grab their own food. Just stared at each other with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

Héctor sat at the head of the table. Steepled his fingers. Looked between the two of them.

"Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I have asked you to gather here today." He held up a finger to silence their protests. Not that there were any protests. Not really. The two of them shared an amused glance and he felt a surge of hope. "The fact of the matter is that we got off on the wrong foot. Through an unfortunate set of circumstances the fault of which is of no matter…" Here Imelda scoffed. Folded her arms. Leaned back in her chair. "…there has been bad blood where there was supposed to be only friendship!"

He made a dramatic gesture. Ernesto couldn't help a low laugh which died in his throat when Imelda glared at him. His hackles raised, defensiveness forming a shield along with it.

"We didn't get off on the wrong foot! She slapped me!" Gestured to his cheek as though the mark still remained. Maybe in his own eyes it did.

"Only after you kissed me," Imelda shot back. "Without asking, without even saying your name! What is a lady to do in that situation?"

"Hush, hush, both of you." Héctor spread his hands over the table in a placating gesture. "As I was saying: I have brought you both here because you are very important to me, and it would mean the world to me if you could be friends, okay? So, you need to be quiet for a bit to listen, okay?"

Imelda didn't respond. He felt the brush of her foot as she crossed her legs beneath the table. Ernesto nodded and said a soft, "Okay, amigo, say your piece."

"Good! Okay, so first up, obviously, Imelda is my fiancée. We are going to be married in only a few weeks. Ernesto, it is important to me that you recognise that she is going to be a big, big part of my life. And our baby…" Here he paused. Became wistful. "Our baby…" Shook his head sharply. Reiterated in a firm voice. "Our baby will be a big part of my life too. Okay?"

"Okay." Ernesto didn't sound totally convinced. But he uncrossed his arms and poured a coffee. Sipped it thoughtfully.

"Good. Good! Perfect! Now…" Héctor hesitated. Rubbed the back of his neck. Then, with a deep breath, leaned forward and took one of Imelda's hands in both of his. "Mi amor… Ernesto is my best friend. He has been my best friend since I was only a boy. He's the one who gave me food and warm clothes. He's the first person who saw something in me. Who saw me as something more than…" He fell silent. Imelda had steadily been softening, but with the pause in his words, she gripped his hand and leaned towards him a little. Steeled by her touch, he continued, "Saw me as something more than a street rat."

Ernesto sipped his coffee, looking away. Imelda glanced at him, uncertain for the first time.

Héctor's voice trembled as he continued. "When I was a boy…my Papa decided he didn't want me anymore. He pushed me out of the house. Ernesto was my…only friend back then. He's like a brother to me, Imelda." He lowered his eyes. "He's…the only family I had before I met you…"

He reached out his other hand, nabbed Ernesto's. He looked between the two of them.

"Héctor…" Imelda's eyes were glimmering with unshed tears. She looked over at Ernesto, and though there was still distrust there her gaze was softer than before.

"Amigo, please, this isn't necessary," Ernesto said. "There're no hard feelings, are there, señorita?"

Imelda seesawed her other hand. Winked at Héctor who laughed, relieved.

"Consider them forgotten." She pushed a smile onto her face. It wasn't her normal smile. It was strained at the corners and showed too many teeth. But it was a start.

Héctor looked at them both. Grinning his optimistic, hopeful grin. Feeling warmth and security fill his heart. Unable to contain himself he leaned over the table, wrapped one arm around each of them and pulled them close. Ernesto's drink sloshed onto the table. Soaked into Imelda's pastry. Héctor's cravat dipped into the piping hot coffee. Ernesto started to laugh. Imelda, uncertain about her face being brought in such close proximity to him again, pushed the corners of her mouth higher. And Héctor closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of being with them. Of being with his family.


	6. Celebrations

**Summary:** Spring has sprung, and there is music in the air.

* * *

Imelda wore a white dress. Her hair was loose down her back, a dark waterfall she pinned away from her face. Her stomach was just starting to show signs of the life growing inside. Around her neck she wore her mother's necklace. A large purple gem set on a velvet band. Every so often she would trace a finger around it, caress the stone. Wish her mother could see her now.

Héctor wore blue. A suit that Oscar and Felipe had helped tailor for him. It fit closely around the narrow girdles of his body, his shoulders and his hips, and flattered the awkward angles of his joints. He looked oddly uncomfortable in such nice clothes, but his grin still sat easily on his features. His brown eyes shone with happiness and love.

Ernesto was there too, of course. As were her brothers and her father. No one else was invited. A wedding party of six. And it was perfect. A priest came in briefly for the exchange of vows and rings, but then quickly left when he saw Imelda's dress outline her stomach.

The vows weren't that important anyway. The rings weren't that important. The importance was in the touch of their hands. In the light pressure of their lips as they kissed. In the way their eyes remained locked whenever possible.

Ernesto managed to break the spell only once, pulling Héctor into the centre of the courtyard and playing a raucous little flourish on his friend's guitar. Héctor laughed. Snatched his guitar back. Played the same flourish, repeated it, softened it a little. Developed it. Played a lively series of chords. The two of them sang together. Developed silly nonsense lyrics to Héctor's melody.

Imelda watched the two of them, smiling. They were a good team. They complemented each other perfectly. Ernesto showy and charismatic, Héctor talented and energetic. They swapped the guitar back and forth. Spinning it easily with a sure, comfortable grip.

Then Héctor handed it back to Ernesto. Told him to fight his basic instincts and play something slow. Something sweet. Not something flashy or gaudy or ostentatious.

Ernesto shrugged. Fiddled with the tuning pegs for a moment. Finally strummed a slow, simple melody.

Héctor gripped Imelda's hands. Pulled her close. They danced in slow revolutions. Her arms held loosely around his neck. His hands pressed to her back, fingers twining in thick dark hair. Feeling the bump of her stomach against him.

The sky opened. A brief spring shower. Light and cool. Ernesto ran inside first, carrying Héctor's guitar in front of him. Imelda's family followed, her brother's holding their hands over their father's head in an attempt to protect him.

Héctor and Imelda stayed in the rain. Lost in each other's eyes. His fancy suit and her loose fitting dress became soaked, clinging to their bodies. Her hands played with his hair, brushed circles on the nape of his neck. His fingers braced against her ribs, brushed down her sides, cradled her hips. Their lips, when they touched, were warm despite the cool rain.

And between them, for the first time, their baby moved in tiny fluttering bursts.


	7. Fussing

**Summary:** Even the most relaxed, optimistic man can't help himself in some situations.

* * *

"Ay, dios mío, stop fussing, Héctor."

Imelda couldn't help but smile. Even though he was being incredibly annoying. Flitting about. Fluffing her cushions. Getting her drink after drink of cold water with fresh berries floating in it. Even though she needed to pee so badly after every sip that it hurt. Holding her hand and supporting her everywhere. Endearing as it was, it was starting to wear down her patience.

"I don't fuss, mi amor," Héctor said. She raised an eyebrow. Darted her gaze to the platter of assorted chips and pastries he was carrying. Made a little 'explain yourself' gesture with one hand.

Héctor flushed. Grinned. Put the platter carefully down on the table beside her and crouched by her seat.

"Okay, I fuss a little… I'm just trying to make sure that you're comfortable!"

Imelda sighed. Rested her hand on her belly. Felt the baby inside give an enthusiastic kick to her palm.

"I'm never comfortable," she groaned. Winced as the baby started drumming an irregular, unfocused beat on her spine. "He's definitely your baby, Héctor. He cannot stop moving around!"

Héctor smiled, a little guiltily. Leaning down, he splayed long fingers over her stomach and hummed a soft, slow melody. The kicking slowed, the punches to her diaphragm settled.

"I don't know if it is a boy, mi amor," he said gently. His gaze softened, warmed, as he looked at her stomach. "I think she is a girl. I think she has the same fire and passion in her soul that you have. She cannot stop dancing, to the music in her own head, to the beat of your heart."

She watched with a smile. Stroked his hair out of his eyes. Traced his eyebrows and the high points of his cheekbones. Ran a fingertip lightly down the length of his long hooked nose. He looked up at her.

"It has to be a boy," she said, teased. "He makes silly nonsense songs out of nothing and cannot help but knock things over when he dances." The corner of her mouth twitched up. Her eyebrows lifted. He narrowed his eyes for only a second. Then turned his face back down to her stomach and stroked it gently.

"Hush, be still, mija. Your mama has a sore back and you cannot knock the pain out from the inside."

He started to sing, a soft crooning lullaby, and leaned his cheek on her belly. The baby inside, who had stilled almost completely, started to move again. Slow, gentle movements. Seeming almost to sway back and forth. Imelda smiled, stroked his hair. Added her voice to his. And together they sang to their baby.


	8. Notebook

**Summary:** His creativity never ceases to amaze her. His inspiration never fails to move her.

* * *

"Oh she's beautiful. She looks just like you, Imelda."

Óscar bounced the baby in his arms. Smiling, laughing. Coco blinked up at him with wide eyes, glancing between his face and Felipe's grin with a confused series of babbles. Imelda smiled as she watched, her fingers working on a new blanket for the baby. Felipe took Coco now. Lifted her so she was at eye level with him. Laughed as she grabbed at his moustache with chubby little fingers.

They had adapted to being uncles like fish to water. Showering love and affection over baby Coco. Trying their best to outdo her parents. And failing. Of course. It was hard to match the love that Héctor poured into everything. To rival the passion Imelda infused into every moment. They adored their baby girl. She was like the final piece of their puzzle.

"You two happy to watch her for a moment?"

As though she even needed to ask. Óscar was now hiding behind Felipe, popping out and making silly faces at the giggling baby. Propping his chin on his brother's shoulder so they looked like a two-headed man. Coco loved this. While some children might have found the sight frightening, Coco thought it was delightful. Magical almost. She reached out with earnest hands and smeared fingerprints on their glasses.

Imelda smiled. Shook her head. Put down her sewing and moved out into the courtyard. Héctor was sitting against the same tree he had been when he proposed to her. He was holding a pencil in his mouth and strumming uncertainly at his guitar. At his feet a red leather notebook rested, open to a series of empty staves carefully ruled on the formally blank pages.

"Héctor?"

He jolted. Slammed the notebook shut. Slapped his hand on the strings of his guitar so the tentative chord stopped ringing out. Spat the pencil across the courtyard. It landed with a clatter between two cobblestones.

"Imelda!" He smiled a strange guilty smile.

"What are you doing?" Her eyes narrowed. Her arms crossed.

He laughed. Flushed. Lowered his eyes. Formed a few silent chords on the frets of his guitar.

"I'm trying to write all my songs down…"

He gestured to the tiny red notebook. Looked in vain for the pencil.

"May I?" Imelda reached out one hand,

A deeper blush. Burning at the points of his cheekbones. Unable to find a way out of it, he scooped up the notebook and offered it up. His lips drawn back in a grimace. Eyes squeezed shut.

She took it from his hand and flipped through the pages. More staves, notes and keys carefully rendered in pencil. She couldn't read music, but the words scribbled beneath were familiar. She landed on one labelled 'Un Poco Loco', and paused. Traced the jumps in the notes. Raised an eyebrow.

He got to his knees. Peeked over the book. Saw which song she was looking at. Groaned and covered his face.

"Imelda, it's not what it looks like?"

"You make me un poco loco," she read. Recited. Kept her tone purposefully flat. "The way you keep me guessing, I'm nodding and I'm yessing?"

Héctor leaned back against the tree. "Don't read it like that, Imelda! It sounds way worse than it is!"

"Is this for me, Héctor?" she asked. Smiling a little. "Is the loco that I make you just un poco crazy?"

He uncovered his face. Saw the glint in her eye, the arch of her eyebrow, the slant of her smirk. Took a second further. She could almost see the gears in his head turning. Then he grinned and bounced to his feet. Comfortably rattled off the notes her fingers had traced just a moment before. Sang a few bars, before his finger caught an off note and he stumbled to a halt.

"Ah, damn." He fiddled with the pegs. Squinted and pursed up his face as he listened carefully to the tuning. She laughed, flipped through a few more pages. Came across one that was half filled in. Half rubbed out. Eraser marks leaving gaps in the staves that he had tried to fill in again.

"Remember me?"

She traced the notes that remained. Squinted as she tried to figure out the melody. The blush returned, full force, and he snatched the book out of her hands.

"That's…a work in progress…" He eyed her, uncertainly. Pressed the book close to his narrow chest. Squeezed it so the leather began to bend. She put a hand over his to prevent him cracking it in half. "It's not finished."

"Tenderly," she said quietly. "You sing tenderly to only two people, Héctor." She smiled. Pulled him close. The guitar bumped against her stomach but she barely noticed. It was in the middle of so many of their embraces it seemed. A welcome third party to their relationship. A symbol of the music that lay beneath their love.

"It's…it's a song for Coco," Héctor admitted into her hair. "I haven't got words yet…not really… Just those two."

"Come inside, Héctor. Maybe if you see her the words will come."

He nodded against her shoulder. Followed as she guided him inside. Óscar and Felipe were still bouncing Coco on their hips. Making funny faces and noises at her. Laughing as she tried to copy the sounds.

Héctor swooped in. Scooped her into his arms. Nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers, and closed his eyes as she reached up and touched his cheeks. Imelda watched as the dopey, adoring smile rose on his face. He hummed the melody. Opened his eyes as she echoed the notes. Looked at Coco with such love and tenderness that Imelda's heart swelled. It was a beautiful little tune. It fit them both perfectly.


	9. Crying

**Summary:** Considering her parents, there was no chance she wouldn't have a healthy set of lungs.

* * *

Coco didn't cry often. But when she did she cried with gusto From deep by her diaphragm. Long keening wails that pierced the walls of the house and echoed around the central courtyard. Even from the furthest corner she could be heard clearly.

It was early. Maybe two or three in the morning. Héctor had come home only a short time before, from a show with Ernesto, and had crept into bed with an exhausted little groan. Imelda had drawn him close to her. Spooning against his back. Mumbling sleepy nonsense sounds.

And then Coco started to cry.

They both groaned. Héctor gripped Imelda's hands on his chest, shook his head. She propped herself up, put her lips close to his ear.

"Your turn, mi amor."

He lifted one hand. Shooed her face away. Grumbled incomprehensible complaints.

"I can't feed her, Imelda, you have to go."

She snickered. Pulled one hand free and brushed his hair away from his neck. Kissed the soft skin beneath his ear. He shivered. Gripped her hand tighter.

"That is not a hungry cry, Héctor." She rolled the 'r' at the end of his name. Like she did when she was annoyed. Knowing that would wake him up faster than anything else she could say. He shrank into himself a little. Half-rolled over so their eyes met in the dark. She smiled. He narrowed his eyes.

"That's a cheap trick, Imelda…" Not annoyed, not really. But certainly pretending as best he could. A renewed screech of displeasure emanated from Coco and they both winced. "Okay, okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up."

He dragged himself out of the bed. Slumped shoulders, finger tips almost scraping along the ground. He cast a single miserable look over his shoulder as he left the room, pouting. She blew him a kiss, lay back down, snuggled back into the pillow. Breathing in the smell of his hair.

She fell into a half-doze. Unable to stop listening as Héctor's soft, soothing voice interrupted Coco's wails.

"What's wrong, mija? Oh… Oh! Ay, don't you worry, Coco. Your papa will get you all cleaned up in no time. Hush, hush, mija. It's okay. You're okay."

His voice moved out to the courtyard. Towards the general use pool of warm water they kept drawn out there. Gentle splashing, water spilling from the pool to a shallow bath, and more whimpering from Coco. Imelda's eyes drooped closed and she listened with a smile as her husband comforted their daughter.

When Coco eventually stopped whimpering, after an hour of murmured words and soft, gentle lullabies, Héctor slumped into their room and flopped onto the bed. Imelda smiled, pulled him close to her again and nuzzled beneath his chin, his goatee tickling her forehead.

"You're a good papa, Héctor."

He scoffed. Waved a hand in a vague uncertain movement. His shoulders twitched in an exhausted shrug. She nodded and wrapped her arms around him tight.

"A wonderful papa. Coco is lucky to have you. And so am I…"

He smiled. Kissed her forehead. Stroked her back in long slow circles as they both slipped into deep, dreamless sleep.


	10. Anniversary

**Summary:** It truly is the thought that counts.

* * *

Héctor yelped. Shook his hand hard. Put the tip of his finger into his mouth and tasted blood.

"Stupid needle!" He threw the offending object away with a disgusted grunt. "Stupid dress!" Now the garment hit the ground. Crumpled. He kicked at it with malice, and hissed in breath as it caught his foot and rolled his ankle.

"Need a hand, Héctor?"

He jolted. Spun in his seat. Óscar leaned in the doorway. Felipe stood behind him, arms crossed and a knowing smile on his face. Or maybe it was the other way around. It was hard to tell. He brandished his hand at them, frustrated. Blood beaded at the tip, startling crimson on his brown skin.

"Stupid dress isn't cooperating!"

Felipe snickered. Óscar entered and picked up the crumpled cloth. Or maybe it was the other way around.

"Oh, Héctor, were you trying to sew Imelda something?"

Bristling a little. "No!" Softening. "Maybe…" Defeated. "Yes… Sewing is really hard though. It keeps stabbing me."

He sucked the tip of his finger again. Glowered at the twins as they exchanged a look.

"First your fabric is all wrong." Óscar balled the cloth up then shook it out. "See the creases? This cloth won't flow well. And I assume you want it to flow well considering the type of skirt you seem to be trying for."

" _Trying_ for?" Héctor paused. Swallowed his annoyance. Nodded. "Yes, I want a dress that will follow her movement. Emphasis every turn. Can you do that, Óscar? Felipe?" Looking back and forth between the two of them, hoping he looked at the right one at the right time.

They grinned. Nodded in unison. Óscar went to the cupboard while Felipe gathered the other various sewing apparatus that Héctor had strewn around the room in his frustration. Or maybe it was the other way around…

"So what's the occasion?" Felipe asked, rooting around under the desk for the last few pins.

Héctor grinned, a little shame-faced. Rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged his narrow shoulders.

"It's our anniversary tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow!?" They looked at each other. Óscar slapped his forehead. Felipe removed his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.

"Ay, dios mío. How long have you been working on this dress?"

Another awkward hesitation. "A week?"

They shared a sigh. Looked at each other pointedly.

"We're only doing this because you make her so happy, hermano," Óscar said. He pulled out a fresh bolt of cloth. One that moved with a fluid ease as he unrolled it.

"If you do _anything_ to ruin it we will end you," Felipe added. Pulling needles and thread from a well organised drawer.

Héctor nodded. Emphatically. They grinned at him and started cutting, pinning, stitching. Not measuring or second-guessing themselves. Just following their instincts. They could size by eye, could measure with a look. It was their own unique talent.

Héctor watched, tried to take it in as best he could. Under their skilled hands the dress seemed to stitch itself together. Too fast for him to comprehend. With a relieved sigh he sat back in his seat and started drumming his fingers on the table.

"Thanks, amigos. I wanted to get her something beautiful, wanted to _make_ her something that's as beautiful as she is. But I never realised how hard sewing was!"

"You should stick to singing," Felipe said.

"Or dancing." They snickered. Elbowed each other.

Héctor narrowed his eyes at them. Considered getting defensive. Instead decided to roll with it. Continued to drum out various rhythms.

"Hey, when you're right you're right!" He grinned at them and they started to bob their heads to his percussion. "I gave it a go, now the experts are lending their skills." He winked. Óscar laughed. Felipe nodded. Héctor softened, slowed the rhythm, punctuated it with the occasional heeltap on the wooden chair. "Seriously, thank you. You are lifesavers."

Coco toddled into the workroom. Héctor stopped drumming, got up. Grabbed her hands. Danced her in a circle as they laughed. Óscar and Felipe took a break for long enough to give them a round of applause.

"Will it be ready for tomorrow morning, amigos?"

"Maybe." Óscar eyed the fabric again. Felipe lifted the finished section of the skirt and gave it an experimental twirl.

"I'm sure we can finish it." They nodded at each other, confident. Héctor's heart swelled with gratitude and he swept Coco into his arms to avoid hugging the twins.

And they were right. It was ready by the morning. Felipe had even found a scarlet ribbon and tied it in an extravagant bow. It was _perfect_.

They pushed it into Héctor's hands before breakfast. Gave him a wink and an encouraging punch to the shoulder. Overwhelmed with appreciation, Héctor hugged them both tight. They hugged him back. Grinned their identical grins. Nudged him towards where Imelda was trying to knead some bread. Unsuccessfully. Her hands covered in big globby bits of dough.

"I-Imelda?"

She whirled on him. Stared at him and the present in his arms. Blew a strand of hair from her eyes.

"You have the _worst_ timing, Héctor."

He shrugged, offered the gift forward. "Happy anniversary, mi amor."

She was annoyed for about a second. Then laughed. Dipped her forearms in a bowl of cool water, washing off the dough. She dried her hands on her apron before she took the present. Unwrapped it. Held the dress up to her. It would fit perfectly. That was clear just from looking at it.

"It's beautiful." She smiled. Leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Murmured against his skin, "Óscar and Felipe?"

"Oh absolutely! But it was my idea!"

She held it against her body. Shaped it to her hips. To her bust. To her waist. It made his heart beat a tiny bit faster. Made his stomach flutter. Seeing his wife modelling the dress he had designed, even if he couldn't make it, made him happy in a way he couldn't quite describe.

"I suppose I should give you your present, eh?"

He blinked, surprised. "You didn't have to get me a present, Imelda."

A slanted smile. An arched eyebrow. A look of knowing that pulled at the very core of him. She bent, fished something from beneath the counter. It was a guitar case. With a flourish, she pushed it into his hands.

"Imelda?"

"Hush, Héctor. Just open it."

He lay it on the table. Cast another look at his wife. His eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest. She nodded and gestured towards the clasps.

A smooth movement of his thumbs. The latches came undone with a satisfying click. He slowly lifted the lid, still uncertain what he would see.

It was a guitar. Of course it was a guitar. White. Opalescent. Shining with a reflective lacquer. Carefully inked designs mimicked the ones he had meticulously hand drawn. Even the skeleton face with its single golden tooth. He ran his fingers along the strings and closed his eyes as the notes rang out. Soft, muted, perfect.

"Imelda, it's beautiful." Tears stung his eyes. He lifted the guitar out of its case. Strummed a few tentative chords. The sound resonated within him. As though it came from his very soul.

She leaned towards him. Pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her fingers plucked at the strings and released a beautiful clear series of notes.

"Now you can finish your songs," she murmured. Kissed his lips gently and smiled as a shiver passed through his shoulders. "No more falling out of tune."

He placed the guitar back into the case. Made sure it was secure. Then caught her in his arms and hugged her tight.

"Thank you, mi amor." Kissed her cheek. Her lips. Her forehead. Kissed all over her face. Continued until she waved him off, laughing and blushing.

That night, as the moon hung huge and silver overhead, he played his new guitar and she wore her new dress. They sang and danced together as the clear notes of his guitar floated through the air and the layers of her skirts swirled. Coco, having escaped from the babysitting of her Tíos Óscar and Felipe, interrupted them. Demanded to join in. And so they danced with her cradled in Imelda's arms. The three pieces of the puzzle fitting perfectly together.


	11. Showtime

**Summary:** Playing for the world is one thing, but they had to start somewhere.

* * *

"Amigo, can I use your guitar?"

Héctor sighed. Looked at Ernesto's pleading face.

"What happened to the one I gave you? Why do you always have to borrow mine?"

Ernesto winced, grimaced. Put a hand on the back of his head. Shrugged broad shoulders up.

"It doesn't play like yours. Too old, too worn out. The A string keeps losing its tune in the middle of the song. Please, mi amigo, I promise I'll get my own guitar. But for now if I could just…" Ernesto walked his fingers over the case. Traced the clasps that held it shut.

Héctor narrowed his eyes. "My guitar, my songs, your voice. When do I get to play, Ernesto?"

"Soon." The hand caressing the case of his guitar became oddly…possessive? Demanding almost. In that moment Héctor could almost see the person Imelda had seen that first night. The man who had grabbed his best friend's betrothed and kissed her on the mouth. But he shook it off. That was crazy talk. This was Ernesto, after all. He was showy and could be selfish, but he was a good guy.

"Okay, amigo. But I get to play tonight. I get to sing one of the songs for Imelda. Deal?"

"Fine, fine, fine. Just so long as you don't play that one for the baby. It's too slow, Héctor. Maybe if you upped the tempo, added some flourishes…" Ernesto strummed the air in a quick rhythm. Héctor winced.

"It's supposed to be slow, Ernesto. It's a lullaby?" A pause. "Okay I won't play that one."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He pulled out his notebook. Flipped through a few pages for inspiration. He knew them all off by heart, of course. They had flowed from his soul into the strings and onto the page. At this point he was only really writing them down so one day he could give the book to Coco. So he could encourage her to add on to it. To make her own music one day.

"Okay, amigo, show time!"

Ernesto opened the case. Carefully withdrew the guitar and draped its strap over his shoulders. He climbed the steps into the central gazebo. Strummed and sang and put on a great show. He was a natural showman, after all. He played the crowd as much as he did the guitar. All the women in the audience were fawning over him, their hands on their hearts.

Well… almost all of them.

From where he sat, perched on the steps, Héctor could see Imelda and Coco. His wife had one arm tucked across her stomach and an unimpressed tilt to her brows. Coco was dancing, but a little self-consciously. Ernesto changed the beat a little too often for the toddler to keep up with, and she sometimes stumbled over her feet.

Eventually Ernesto played himself out. Threw his arms in the air. Let out a few whooping gritos and his deep genuine laugh. The crowd cheered and clapped and stamped their feet. Appreciating his charisma and talent.

Héctor raised his voice in a ringing cry of support. Clapped his hands above his head. Grinned as Ernesto delivered a deep bow and extravagant gestures of his hands.

With a giddy laugh, Ernesto stepped down and sat beside him. Buffed his fingerprints off the shiny white lacquer. Handed the guitar back.

"All yours, amigo. I warmed them up for you." A wink. A nudge into his ribs. Héctor laughed and nudged right back.

"Some warm up, you ate up all the time!"

"You can squeeze in a song or two." Almost bordering on defensive. Enough good humour that the edge could be ignored.

Héctor rose to his feet. Stood in front of the crowd. Shook his nerves through his limbs and let loose a ringing yell. Inspiring his own round of applause and excited cries. Imelda fought her way to the front with Coco. His daughter stared up with wide, adoring eyes and his heartbeat quickened.

A short moment. Settling on a song that Ernesto hadn't already played. One he had written when watching Imelda slow dance in the kitchen. Twirling and adding extra little steps as she circled the counter. It was a song about finding moments to add music to your step, of adding rhythm to your movements. Of not caring who was around. He stepped the tempo up a bit, stamped his feet as he sang. The audience faded away. All he could see was Imelda's genuinely embarrassed smile and the delight in Coco's face as she twirled easily and surely. Confident in her steps. Dancing to his song.


	12. Convincing

**Summary:** A heart to heart over future plans.

* * *

Héctor carefully tuned the guitar. Gently and with infinite love. Feeling nerves and an uncomfortable sense of pressure. Of coercion. He didn't know how to cope with it and so had become hyper-focused on the strings. On the notes.

"We will never make it big in Santa Cecilia. We have to go on the road, Héctor."

Ernesto put a hand on his shoulder. Hot and heavy. More pressure. Looming over him. He was shorter than Héctor, but much broader. Much stronger. His presence had never felt threatening like this before.

"We need to travel! Get out of this tiny town. Hit the road and make some real fans! Think of it, Héctor! With my voice and your songs, we could be famous! People all over the world could be saying our names."

Another clap on the shoulder. Harder this time. Hard enough to sting. Héctor swallowed a wince and looked up.

"We'd be away from Santa Cecelia for such a long time though, Ernesto. What if we never make it big? What if we go away for nothing?"

"It would still be worth it. Come on, Héctor. Think of the crowds! The applause! The women!"

Héctor raised an eyebrow, knocked on the body of his guitar with his wedding ring. "Want to rethink that last bit, muchacho?"

"Oh of course, forgive me, amigo." Ernesto laughed, but it was a bit strained. A bit awkward. "My point stands though!" A moment of silence. Then an argument that for the first time started to turn gears in Héctor's mind. "Think of how happy your music has made Imelda. Imagine sharing that joy with the world! Everyone deserves to hear your songs, Héctor."

Another pause. Héctor brushed his fingers over the strings. Heard the muted metallic ring. Thought of the first time he had danced with Imelda. The way she had tested him, made sure he was worthy of her time. How she had smiled that secret knowing smile. The first time she had allowed him close enough to kiss. How he had felt her heart hammering in her throat with the gentle touch of his hand.

"Okay, Ernesto… I suppose we can go for a short time… Try to spread the music a bit…"

Ernesto laughed. Hugged Héctor with one arm and made a grand gesture with the other. And the relief that Héctor felt at his friend's joy overwhelmed that yawning uncertainty that continued to twist in his gut.


	13. Farewells

**Summary:** Saying goodbye is never easy. Even if it's only for a while.

* * *

Imelda washed her hands. Washed and washed. Rinsed off soap and reapplied it. Didn't even feel the dryness of her skin, the cracks beginning to form between her fingers. Her eyes stared forward blankly. All of her attention was on the other room. On the floating gentle notes and soft, tender singing of her husband. The giggles of her daughter. Coco was singing along as best she could, her voice high and sweet and pure. Hearing them sing about separation and remembering made her heart hurt in a strange way.

The last note faded. Héctor's voice murmuring and Coco's mumbling responses. He soothed and hushed. She eventually stopped talking, soothed to sleep by her papa. There were soft footsteps and the click of her bedroom door shutting.

The musical thud as he put the guitar in its case. The sharp clicks as the clasps re-engaged. The gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder.

"Mi amor?"

She rinsed the last of the soap from her hands. Dried them on her apron. Turned away from him and walked towards the window. He didn't follow.

"Ernesto will be waiting for you. You should hurry."

A moment of silence. "He can wait." Another pause. "Can you look at me? Please, Imelda?"

She bit her lip. Crossed her arms. Straightened her spine and turned towards him. Wide brown eyes, lit from within with love. That hopeful smile with its gold tooth and dimpled cheek. Hair and goatee both messed by Coco's adoring touch. Imelda rolled her eyes. Walked towards him and began to straighten him out.

"Are you angry with me?" His voice soft. Unhappy. He kept trying to meet her eyes and she kept pointedly avoiding them.

"No," she said with a sigh. "I'm not happy. But I'm not angry either." She fixed his goatee, then combed her fingers through his hair to untangle it. Relished the feeling of the strands on her skin. "Is this really what you want, Héctor? To leave us behind? To play to total strangers?" His eyes widened fractionally. Something flashed in those brown depths. Something unfamiliar and so out of place it took her a second to recognise it.

He caught her hand. Kissed the palm, then each wrinkled fingertip. Then gave the same treatment to the other hand. His thumbs gently caressing her skin. She recognised him stalling for time. Decided not to push him.

When he finally looked back up at her the flash of uncertainty she thought she had seen was gone. There was determination there now. Steely and powerful.

"Yes, Imelda. I want to give it my best try. Ernesto is right; our music is worth being heard by the world."

A knife in her heart. She pulled her hands free. Grasped her elbows. Felt the dry skin between her fingers crack and winced.

"Don't forget us," she said. "Don't leave us for some other family or some other dream."

She saw Héctor's heart in his eyes. Saw the love and hope there. He reached out and she went into his arms willingly. Closed her eyes as he held her tight. Breathed in the smell of him. Tried to commit it to memory. He kissed the top of her head.

"I will never forget you, mi amor. You or Coco."

He kissed her lips, gently. Moved to her ear, whispered something that she stored in her heart. Then he left. His guitar case in one hand. A small suitcase in the other. Walking side by side with Ernesto. Turning back to look over his shoulder at her standing in the doorway until Ernesto placed a hand on his shoulder. Limited his twisting. Faced him forward.

She closed the door. Leaned against it. Felt tears threaten and blinked them away angrily. Remembered his last words to her.

"It isn't forever, Imelda. I promise."


	14. Coda

**Summary:** The final chord rings out. The music dies away. And all that is left is silence.

* * *

Three months.

That's how long it took for him to break a promise, it seemed. To forget about his family.

The letters had come for three months and then stopped. Not gradually, not over time. Suddenly, as though with a knife. No letters for Imelda. No letters for Coco. The smell of his hair faded from his pillow. The sound of his voice faded from her mind.

Another three months was all it took for her patience to snap. He wasn't coming home. He had lied to her, or lied to himself. Or both. His last letter spoke of the show they'd played. The roaring success that Ernesto could taste. They were so close to their dreams, he'd said. No mention of homecoming. He'd finished with a poem, words to a song he was writing, no doubt. Talking about the black curtain of her hair, the line of her throat, the depths of her eyes. Or of someone's eyes.

She threw out all the letters. Threw out his old guitar, the one Ernesto had left behind. Threw out his records and instruments. Looked at the portrait they had taken, just a few months before he'd left. The hand cradling the neck of his guitar. The flashy suit and ostentatious belt he had borrowed from Ernesto. The tilt of his head. With a swift movement she had torn his face away. Tears spilling down her cheeks as her chest heaved with suppressed sobs. She looked at the gentle smile, the warmth in his eyes, and couldn't find the strength to crumple it up.

Instead all the letters went in the bin. The fragment of the photo wedged in between them. Though her heart was breaking, she straightened her spine and held her head high. Determined to hide away the cracked core of her. The empty wedge of her soul.

In the small community of Santa Cecilia it didn't stay a secret for long. Whispered conversations and pitying looks followed her wherever she went. She never showed that broken, vulnerable part of her. Never wept or wore black or mourned for the husband who had abandoned her.

Her heart tried to tell her something was wrong. Her dreams tried to remind her of what she'd lost. But Imelda, husbandless and single mother to a small child at 22, was just the same as Imelda at 18. Proud. Independent. Defiant. So no matter how hard her instincts tried to insist this was not how it should be. No matter how much she mourned in the early hours of the morning when her dreams taunted her with a future that would never be. Imelda shut it all out.

Because, after all, Imelda never listened.


End file.
